tick, tick... BOOM!

Hi. I'm Jon.

I'm a musical-theater writer.

One of the last of my species.

Sorry. So… so, you know, lately, I've been hearing this sound.

Everywhere I go, like a tick, tick, tick…

Like a time bomb in some cheesy B-movie or Saturday morning cartoon.

The fuse has been lit. The clock counts down the seconds

as the flame gets closer, and closer, and closer,

until… all at once…

This is Jonathan Larson's story.

Happy anniversary, I love you so much.

Before the Tony Awards.

Before the Pulitzer Prize.

Before…

We dedicate this opening night and every performance

to our friend, Jonathan Larson.

- - …we lost him.

Everything you're about to see is true.

Except for the parts Jonathan made up.

The date is January 26th, 1990.

The setting, the barren, unfashionable no-man's-land

between SoHo and Greenwich Village.

I have two keyboards, a Macintosh computer.

- A cat. -

An impressive collection of compact discs,

cassettes, and records of other people's music.

Bookshelves sagging under the weight of plays and novels I didn't write.

I have an original, dystopian rock musical…

…that I have spent the last eight years of my life writing…

- …and rewriting, and rewriting. -

I have rejection letters from every major and minor producer,

theater company, record label, and film studio in existence.

And in just over a week…

I will be 30 years old.

Older than Stephen Sondheim when he had his first Broadway show.

Older than Paul McCartney when he wrote his last song with John Lennon.

By the time my parents were 30, they already had two kids,

they had careers

with steady paychecks, a mortgage.

And in eight days, my youth will be over forever.

And what exactly do I have to show for myself?

Happy birthday!

I made ten copies.

You are an angel on earth.

- This is the last time. Seriously. - I know. Thank you.

- No, no, no, I got you. - I'm gonna pay.

- I don't want you to pay. - Somebody needs to take out this trash.

So I hear you're moving out of Jon's place.

That's the end of an era.

We hear him sobbing in the fridge most mornings. It's very sad.

No, no, no. We are not talking about that.

Wait, Carolyn, you're coming next Friday, right?

What's happening Friday?

- The Superbia workshop. - Surprised he hasn't mentioned it.

That sounds vaguely familiar.

Guys, this is the biggest break I've ever had. This is that moment.

It's the first time people are gonna see the show that aren't just us.

It's good you're not putting too much pressure on it.

- - But it's true, though.

It's like, you get to a certain age and you stop being a writer who waits tables

and you become a waiter with a hobby.

Boo-Boo, you need to ask yourself, in this moment,

are you letting yourself be led by fear or by love?

You just quit?

Well, no, I didn't just "quit" quit. I gave… I gave my notice.

- That's exactly the same thing. - No, I have two weeks left.

I'm allowing myself to be led by love.

What?

You know, Rosa's got another client. Craig Carnelia.

This is Rosa your agent, who hasn't returned your calls in a year?

Yeah, yeah. That's the one.

So she invited the entire theater industry to Craig's musical workshop last year.

And by intermission, some producer

had already written him a check for ten thousand dollars.

I just wish that you didn't have to think like that.

Well, it's expensive to make art.

No, baby, it's expensive to make art here.

- Yeah, but worth every penny. -

- That's beautiful. - I know, right?

How are you gonna pay for this, Jonathan?

Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for our band,

and also for my very, very, very dear friends,

Roger and Karessa on vocals.

Friday night.

- - Hi, Jonathan, it's Deborah.

Susan dropped off your music for tonight's dance...

- - …but I can't get the speakers to work.

- Hey, Pookie. - Hi.

How was Philly?

I went from the airport to a conference room

and then back to the airport three hours later.

- Sounds amazing. - Mm.

Michael was an amazing actor.

Yeah, he was the lead of every play in high school, college.

And then we moved to New York.

I am sick of waking up at 5:00

to get in line outside the Equity Building and wait all day,

praying that the director actually even agrees

to see anyone that's non-union, and then,

when I finally do get in the room, I sing…

I don't know, six measures, if I'm lucky, before they cut me off

and call me the wrong name...

Juan, Pedro, Carlos… lo que sea.

And then a week later, he got a job at a fancy advertising company,

making high five figures.

Healthcare, dental…

He never looked back.

You know, for someone who's broke,

you could probably spend a little bit less on party planning.

Well, what is the point of money,

if you're not gonna spend it on the people you love?

- Yeah, except you don't have any money. - Oh, right.

This has been sitting here for a week.

- I'm on it. - Mm-hm. Yeah. You seem very on it.

Pretty soon you won't have me around to remind you to pay your bills on time.

How will I ever survive?

That's a very real question. Have you found a new roommate yet?

I've been a little busy. You know. My workshop is next week.

Wait, what workshop?

That was funny.

What time's the show tonight?

Uh…